As far as high school teenagers go, Alfred Mann was never the smartest or the best looking or the most athletic or the most popular. He was never really anything. A comic book and sci-fi geek with a penchant for computer games and RPG's, Al had few real friends and certainly no prospective high school romances. It grated on him, mostly because he wanted all those things that a teenager wants, including popularity and acceptance. Losing his virginity wouldn't hurt, either.

One thing the young Mr. Mann had was a sharp wit. Unfortunately, he also had a mouth that tended to run just a second or two faster than his brain, which usually got him into all kinds of trouble. There was the time he commented to the principal about how hot his wife was, and the time he boasted about having read the GM's Vault section of the supplement being used at the gaming convention to a person he didn't realize at the time was the GM of his assigned game. It wasn't that he was a bad kid, he was just too much of a smart ass to stay clear of trouble.

And so it was that he found himself getting beat up by Shane Lambert out on the school soccer field. He'd made one too many comments about the class bully's potential parentage and it had gotten back into the wron gears and the rest was fisticuffs at 3:00 PM. Shane beat Al down pretty good, leaving the smaller boy to lie in the mud that rainy, stormy afternoon.

Alfred lay there on the forty yard line for a long while, contemplating his bruises and his fat lip and his swollen left eye. The rain was falling harder, a real downpour, and he just lay there looking up at the dark, heavy clouds above. He had been sad and angry at first, but the rain was oddly soothing. The patter of raindrop on mud times one billion rolled into his ear and taken together with the coolness of the drops on his face, it was almost spiritual. Then --POW!--

One can alomst imagine the horror on Mrs. Mann's face when she answered the doorbelll to find her own son standing on the porch, a black, charred hole blown in his shirt, a vacant, dazed look in his eye. He said, "I don't feel so good, Mom," before groaning and keeling over on the spot. Al's mom stood there in open-mouthed shock for a few moments before she started to scream.

The people at the hospital were amazed at how well Alfred was doing as one of those rarest human statistical anomoalies: people who survive getting struck by lightning. He was sent home the next day and everything seemed normal with the youth. But everything was far from normal.

It didn't happen right away. At first, Al chalked it up as post-traumatic jitters. Then he found his leg bouncing every time he sat down. Or he'd be standing and find himself bouncing on his toes, or swaying side to side. And it wasn't only an inability to stand still. He seemed quicker, almost twitchy, both in body and mind. His reflexes and hand-eye coordination were astounding and his mental agility seemed slightly improved as well.

He watched some gymnastics on television, and then went to the school gymnasium and performed the intricate acrobatics if not exactly then at least easily. He was stronger, leaner, his body processing most of his body fat away. Sitting alone in his room, Alfred Mann realized what had happened. He was no dummy. The comic collector knew a radiation accident when he saw one.

So he dedicated himself to getting through high school as quickly and painlessly as possible. During his senior year he took every odd job he could find to save himself a financial stake which he'd use for moving into the city, and for buying a costume and some decent gadgets. He also took martial arts lessons at the local Tiger Schulmann's. When the time came, he'd be ready.

Alfred Mann knew the score, and he didn't want to go to college anyway. Not when he could be Action Man.

Personality

Alfred really and truly enjoys his "job" as a costumed crimefighter. It's this view that his nightly escapades are his real work that makes it so difficult for him to hold down a day job, but he wouldn't have it any other way. He always tries to be the good guy and do the right thing, but he's never lost his smart aleck ways. It still gets him into trouble more often than not. His tendency to act before he thinks and to react with more force than is necessary has made him a wanted man with the NYPD and the pro-criminal rights crowd, a distinction which really bothers him.

Quote

"Hey, jackass...I'm up here on the fire escape, moron. What are you, too stupid to get a job so you gotta steal purses for a living?"

Powers

He's pathologically impulsive and a highly aggressive combatant, who tends to overcompensate for what he sees as a lack of defenses with speed and overwhelming force. Guns are bad news, so he'll close to hand-to-hand range as quickly as possible and move among a crowd of opponenets so as to make gunplay eith erunlikely or too potentially dangerous for those he is fighting.

He tends to skulk along the rooftops and use the city landscape to his benefit. He's very stealthy and tries to remain hidden unless he's in a safe position. He often attacks by surprise and without warning.

Appearance

Action Man's costume is midnight blue in the shoulders, gloves, trunks, and boots, and dark crimson everywhere else. His mask is a full head covering in midnight blue with a stylized dark crimson "A" on the forehead.